


I Will Be Blessed

by thefangirlingdead



Series: Friend, Love, Freefall [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel Lives (Supernatural), Coda, Dean Winchester Lives, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, Fix-It, Healing, Heart-to-Heart, Implied Sexual Content, Intimacy, M/M, Nudity, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:06:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27966551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefangirlingdead/pseuds/thefangirlingdead
Summary: I see your “Dean is so repressed he still can’t accept himself even after starting a relationship with Cas” and your “Dean is out and proud and screaming it from the rooftops” headcanons and raise you: Dean is comfortable in his skin and isn’t afraid to show affection to Cas in public or private, but the thing that he’s actually having difficulty coming to terms with is HAVING Cas and accepting that something terrible isn’t waiting just around the corner.AKA, Dean adjusting to normal life after he gets Cas back.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: Friend, Love, Freefall [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048201
Comments: 35
Kudos: 436





	I Will Be Blessed

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a follow-up to "[Torn and Reborn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27871401)", but it should also work fine as a standalone piece.
> 
> I was inspired by countless posts I've seen floating around discussing how Dean might handle coming out/finally being with Cas, and I love all of these headcanons, so I decided to contribute my own. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> *** Small trigger warning for a vague description of a panic attack. If you want to skip it, stop reading at the paragraph that starts at "An Image of Castiel" and start again at the paragraph starting with " 'Pathetic,' Dean mutters" ***

_Heaven is the place we know  
_ _Heaven is the arms that hold us  
_ _Long before we go_

_Oh if you're there  
_ _When the world comes to gather me in  
_ _Oh if you're there  
_ _I will be blessed_

["I Will Be Blessed"](https://open.spotify.com/track/4PFhGZLzpWQk7CumiCyNH7?si=3Ir2BzyTSCuo_U1d0xTDCA) \- Ben Howard

* * *

They never show you what comes _after_ happily ever after. In movies and television shows, you never see what happens after the climax, after that long awaited love confession, after the hero and their _one true love_ ride off into the sunset together, after the evil has been defeated and they finally get to _live_ . They don’t show you what _healing_ looks like for the characters who have been through hell and back and are now beginning the rest of their lives - you don’t get to see them struggling to come to terms with what happened to them, even if they had a happy ending. 

And, well… Dean Winchester never counted on having a happy ending himself. He never planned on getting the guy, living to lick his wounds and move on, or starting a _normal_ life. None of that was ever in the cards for him, so he never even let himself so much as daydream about it. What was the point of wondering what life would be like _after_ everything, when he wasn’t even planning on making it to the end?

So to say that adjusting to his own personal epilogue is difficult would be an understatement. 

It’s not that he isn’t happy. In fact, Dean and those around him might even argue that he’s happier than he has ever been before. He has Sam and Eileen, has a home and stability and a future and… and of course, he has Cas. Cas, who greets him in the mornings with a warm, fond smile and a cup of coffee and even a chaste kiss in the kitchen before they sit down for breakfast. Cas, who sacrificed _everything_ for him, yet somehow, miraculously, is here, is human, and is planning on spending the rest of his time on this earth with him. 

It’s perfect. It’s one little cabin in the mountains short of everything that Dean has ever wanted, and they’re even working on that. So why wouldn’t he be happy?

And honestly, that’s just it. Deep down, he knows that it’s irrational and shitty and likely due to the fact that he has had to fight and claw and struggle his entire life, because he has spent so long hiding who he really is and thinking that he can’t have what he wants, but that doesn’t make it any less difficult. Dean _should_ be happy, and really, he is, but he also can’t help but feel that this is going to be short lived. He can’t help but think that something awful is lurking just around the corner, waiting to rip this all away from him. 

It’s… a lot. 

Not loving Castiel. _God_ no. Loving Castiel isn’t a lot. It’s not a challenge. In fact, it’s the easiest thing that Dean has ever done. He’s been loving Cas for years, so _that_ transition - going from best friends to _lovers_ (for lack of a better term) - is actually incredibly easy. Dean knows that he hasn’t been subtle about it. He knows this, because when he actually starts acting on it, stealing kisses in the kitchen or easily throwing his arm around Cas in the cramped booth of a shitty diner or shamelessly flirting with him in some busy dive bar on the other side of the country when they're on the occasional hunt, it just feels natural. It feels like they should have been doing this ages ago. The teasing and flirting is the same, only now, there are more affectionate touches in between, more moments reserved just for them, whether that means reaching across the impala to squeeze Cas’ hand or expecting a cup of coffee in the morning because Cas always wakes up before him and has one waiting, or maybe even backing Cas up against the motel room door and kissing the life out of him after a particularly tough hunt, just to remind himself he can. 

Ten years ago, maybe Dean would have adjusted to _being with_ Cas a little differently. Ten years ago, Dean hadn’t fully accepted himself, and if Sam were to walk into the kitchen and ask, “Did you two finally kiss and make up?” the morning after Cas returned, Dean might have balked at the question, deflected, or overcompensated with a stupid off-hand remark. But _now_ , he’s pleasantly surprised to know that he doesn’t even feel the least bit panicked at the implication of Sam’s teasing question. In fact, it just earns an eye roll and a fond smile, but before Dean can formulate a response _(yeah, as a matter of fact we did, you got a problem with it?)_ Cas pipes up. 

“We did,” he says with bare honesty, either because he doesn’t quite understand that Sam is _teasing_ or because he, like Dean, is unashamed to admit it. He glances at Dean quickly before adding, “Although I’m prepared to spend as much time as I need to atoning for leaving Dean in the manner that I did and abandoning you all at the eleventh hour.” 

“You don’t need to do that,” Dean grumbles back, almost too quickly. “We turned out just fine. Plus, I think I can speak for both of us when I say that we’re just glad that you’re back.”

Sam looks back and forth between the two of them for just a moment, grin widening impossibly. “And here I thought you two were gross before,” he teases, which earns a glare from Dean, even if there’s no heat behind it as he mutters, _“Can it, asshole.”_

So _no,_ loving Cas isn’t the difficult part. Loving Cas - be it in private, intimate moments, tender touches and hushed, honest words, or proud public displays of affection or shameless flirting - comes easy. He loves the way that Cas practically _glows_ under affection. He loves Cas’ desire to keep growing, to “make himself useful” despite _everyone’s_ insistence that he’s _plenty_ useful with or without powers. He loves the way that Cas looks in the morning - with sleepy eyes and messy hair and a lopsided smile when he greets him with a quiet _“good morning” -_ and he loves the way that Cas curls up against him after a long day. He loves how _human_ Cas is, even if it scares the shit out of him sometimes.

 _No,_ loving Cas comes _easy._ The difficult part, the thing that Dean has trouble adjusting to, even in the weeks and months following his return, is _having_ Cas. At first, he attributes it to the fact that it just simply seems too good to be true, that the feeling will wear off eventually once the dust settles, but then a week passes, then a month, then eventually three months have gone by, and Dean still can’t shake the feeling that this - this _happiness,_ this _love_ is only temporary. He can’t shake the feeling that something terrible is waiting for them just around every corner, and it leaves him feeling on edge, paranoid and scared. _Scared_ because he can’t handle losing Cas again, because he doesn’t know if he’d be able to take it if this happy ending was ripped away from them. 

A shrink might call it PTSD. Hell, _Sam,_ who seems to be handling normalcy and happiness just fine, might even call him paranoid, but Dean just attributes it to his life as a hunter. Sam has always been the ray of hope, the light at the end of the tunnel. Dean is the realist, and he can’t help but hold on tight to that role, even now, even when it seems that finally, he has everything he has ever wanted, that finally, he can _rest._

At first, it’s easy to deal with, easy to compartmentalize and pretend that he isn’t terrified of what comes next, that he isn’t having regular nightmares about Sam dying or Castiel disappearing, but eventually, the act becomes hard to maintain. Three months pass and Dean begins to fall into a regular routine, which should make things feel _better_ , but it only makes him feel increasingly paranoid about the future, until eventually, it all comes to a head, and at the worst possible time. 

The morning after their first night _together -_ after tender touches and roaming hands and reverent kisses and gasping pleasure into one another’s skin - _should_ feel nothing short of perfect. It should consist of Dean lazily blinking his eyes open against warm morning sunlight while Cas presses kisses to the back of his neck, of wandering hands and lazy movements and _taking their time_ because _Sam is out of town with Eileen for the weekend_ and they don’t need to feel rushed. And it _does._ It’s all of those things. 

But…

 _But,_ the morning after their first night together, Dean finally _breaks._ He’s really not sure what does it - if it’s the solid, tangible feeling of Castiel’s naked body pressed against his own beneath the sheets, or if it’s the way that Cas rubs a thumb tenderly over his cheekbone as they kiss, or if it’s the way Cas sounds when he murmurs his name, low and heady, but -

But one moment, they’re kissing, Dean pressing Cas into the mattress, reveling in the way that his body arches up into him with just the slightest touch, in the way that the early morning light halos his head in golden haze, and then next, he’s closing his eyes and is met with -

_An image of Castiel, bloody and beaten and broken, slumped before him, unmoving and unresponsive. Castiel, lying stiff and lifeless under a white sheet. Castiel, standing before him, tears welling in his eyes as he admits, “I love you.”_

\- and suddenly, he can’t breathe. Dean pulls away, gasping, and the look of worry and hurt evident in Cas’ eyes only makes things _worse._ Cas is speaking to him, but Dean can’t _hear it,_ can only see his lips moving, and one moment, he’s on the bed, the sheets pooled around his waist, Cas reaching out for him, and the next thing he knows, he’s sitting on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest, his eyes wide and unseeing as Cas continues to speak gently to him, attempting to talk him down. 

It’s embarrassing, really, Dean finds himself thinking, minutes or hours or days later, after his body has exhausted itself, sore and worn out from the panic, and he finds himself digging his knuckles into his eyes. It’s embarassing, because this should be the _best_ morning of his life, a perfect morning in bed with Castiel after fighting for so long, after finally getting their shit together and acting on this thing between them, but he can’t even enjoy it because of all of the bullshit that they’ve been through, because he’s fucking _terrified_ of holding onto something good for fear of it getting ripped away again. 

It’s -

 _“Pathetic,”_ Dean mutters once his voice returns to him, after an undetermined amount of time, because time both feels like it’s standing still and moving at an alarming rate right now, and he’s still sitting nude on the bedroom floor, save for the blanket that Cas has wrapped around his body. 

_Cas,_ who patiently talked him down, who didn’t judge the outburst or become frustrated or insulted when Dean ripped away from him like his touch burned. Cas, who fixes Dean with a sad, confused look as he murmurs, “Dean, you’re not pathetic. This isn’t your fault.”

And Dean wants to argue that it _is,_ because he has made _countless_ mistakes in his life and now his punishment is that he can’t even enjoy this sliver of happiness, but he can’t get the words out. He can’t get the words out, so he just listens as Cas continues. He listens until he can’t anymore. 

“This isn’t on you,” Cas continues, even though his voice still sounds fuzzy to Dean’s ears, “I shouldn’t have pushed, I know this is all very new, and we should have talked about your boundaries -”

“Jesus, _no,”_ Dean manages to grit out, shaking his head where it is pressed against his knees. He wants to argue that Cas _didn’t_ push, that he was the one pressing Cas into the mattress, but that’s beside the point. “That’s not it. I just -”

Dean stops himself, unsure of what to say, how to explain. How does he even begin to tell Cas that it’s not that he doesn’t feel comfortable, that he wants nothing more than to be able to kiss the life out of him, to make love to him without worrying about the future, but he _can’t?_ He _wishes_ his hang ups were as simple as uncomfortability with his own sexuality, but it’s more so the lingering feeling that this isn’t going to last, that something terrible is about to happen, and he fucking _hates_ it. He hates that _this_ is where he is at forty-three years old - a huddled mess on the floor of his bedroom because he can’t even make out with the man that he loves because he can’t get the image of his dead body out of his head. 

But, even in this messy, irrational, emotional state, Dean knows that he owes Cas an explanation, because he’ll never take a moment to _tell Cas how he feels_ for granted ever again. So he pulls himself together enough to look up at the former angel in front of him, swallowing the lump in his throat enough to manage, “I just can’t shake this feeling that this is too good to be true.”

It’s vague, but Dean hopes that Cas understands. He’s not sure if he wants to go into great detail about what just happened or what he’s been dealing with. He _wants_ to tell Cas that it isn’t his fault, that he can’t control how _broken_ he is, but he can’t quite get those words out, so he hopes that Cas gets it. 

Judging by the pained, sorrowful look on his face, Dean thinks that he might understand, at least a little bit, and he’s not sure if he should feel relieved or not. 

In the back of his mind, Dean can hear Cas telling him nearly fifteen years ago, _“Good things do happen, Dean,”_ and he really, _really_ wishes that he could believe it. He wants so badly to believe it, but time and time again, life and fate have proven him wrong. 

This time, Cas doesn’t repeat those words. Instead, he murmurs a soft, “I know,” and frankly, it’s more grounding than anything else. Somehow, just those two words make Dean feel much better than he expected, because he isn’t alone in this. 

Later, once they’re both clothed and Dean has a second cup of coffee sitting in front of him, they talk about it. Not in depth, and not more than Dean’s threshold can take, but they talk about it. 

“I don’t mean to sound like a _shrink,”_ Cas says, taking a seat across from him, his eyes gentle as they bear into Dean’s, “But I think what you’re feeling is _normal,_ Dean. I don’t think that this feeling is ever going to fully go away.”

Dean can’t help but scoff as he takes a drink of his coffee, even though he knows that Cas meant the words in a reassuring manner. “Not sure if that makes me feel better or not,” he mutters. 

“It’s not meant to make you feel better,” Cas says, always blunt, always honest, “But it doesn’t mean that those feelings are reflective of reality. They’re just a product of the things that you’ve - that _we’ve_ \- been through.”

Dean nods at that, hearing and understanding Castiel’s words, but not fully believing them. It’s then that Cas reaches forward to place a hand over his own, derailing his thoughts. 

Dean glances across the table to find Cas’ eyes bearing into his own, earnest and honest and so, _so_ full of emotion.

“I’m not going anywhere, Dean,” he says at last, “And I know that the words only mean so much, but I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you, if I have to. I can’t guarantee that our future won’t be without challenge and danger, but I’ll do everything in my power to stay here, with you. Do you understand?”

And despite the nagging voice in the back of his head telling him that they’ll never be safe, that they’ll never find happiness, Dean nods. Dean _has_ to believe it. He _has_ to trust Castiel, because if he doesn’t have that, then what does he have?

And over time, it gets easier. Over time, Dean starts to believe those words that Cas said to him the night that they met.

_Good things do happen._

It’s hard to reconcile and it’s even harder to get used to being _happy,_ but over time, Dean adjusts. Over time, he begins to believe it. 

Over time, it becomes easier to plan for the future, to even _think_ about having a future with Cas without worrying about what comes next. Over time, it becomes easier to just live, to _love_ without fear that it’s going to be ripped away all too soon. 

But it’s not _always_ easy. It’s not always easy to sleep in and let himself slowly wake up to the sound of Cas’ steady breathing on late Sunday mornings, as much as he would like to cherish it. It’s not always easy to go on a run of the mill, simple hunt without worrying about what will happen if something goes wrong. And it’s not always easy to fall asleep with Cas’ arm wrapped around his middle, grounding him to the here and now, because when he closes his eyes, sometimes he’s still haunted by violent, heartbreaking images from years ago, but feels like just yesterday. 

One night in particular, long after he and Cas have fallen into bed together in a tangled mess of limbs, Dean finds that like many other nights, he can’t sleep. It’s not that he isn’t happy and it’s not that he isn’t comfortable. It’s just that, even after a long day, even long after Cas has fallen asleep in his arms, Dean just can’t seem to shut his brain off. A little over six months following Cas’ return, they’ve begun to fall into a routine and it has become easier with every passing day for Dean to accept that _this is it, he can have this,_ but some days are harder than others. Today is one of those days. 

He and Cas have talked about it. Although Dean will always be _Dean_ and emotional heart-to-hearts will never come easy, he is also nearing forty-four years old, and the last thing he wants is to lose the person he loves because he couldn’t talk about his shit. So they’ve talked about it. 

But that doesn’t mean that Dean wants to disturb Cas from his sleep right now to discuss his trauma at length. Instead, once he’s sure that Cas is out, Dean slips gingerly out of bed, pulling a pair of discarded sweats on and a t-shirt over his head before stepping out into the hallway and pulling the door closed quietly behind himself. 

Dean is surprised, however, to discover that apparently he’s not the only person who couldn’t sleep. When he steps into the kitchen, he’s met with the sight of Sam sitting at the table with his laptop in front of him, illuminated by the warm kitchen light. He pauses in the doorway, unsure of what to do or say before settling on clearing his throat to announce his presence, muttering, “Couldn’t sleep?”

When Sam glances up from the laptop, he seems surprised to see him. “No,” he replies after a moment of studying him, “You?”

Dean shrugs, finally crossing the threshold into the kitchen. “Nah,” he mutters as he crosses the room, “Cas snores.” It’s not a lie, really, but it’s definitely a deflection as well. He’s not entirely sure if he wants to have this conversation with Sam tonight. 

Sam, apparently taking the bait, just snorts in response. “And to think you spent the better part of a decade pining after him.”

Dean, caught off guard by Sam’s teasing, nearly sputters in response, struggling to reply with a witty comeback. “I didn’t -” he starts, despite the fact that he _did_ spend the better part of a decade pining after Cas, and they both know it.

But before Dean can get anything else out, Sam just shoots him a _look,_ and rather than arguing the point, Dean is happy to drop it. Instead, he opts to busy himself by grabbing a glass and filling it up with water from the tap. It’s an improvement, really. Years ago, he would have adamantly denied any feelings towards another man, let alone Cas. Years ago, if Dean was suffering from a restless night brought on by past trauma, he’d reach for liquor. Now, he doesn’t mind Sam’s teasing words because they’re _true,_ and he opts for water instead of alcohol, because he knows that getting wasted isn’t going to solve anything - it’ll just numb it. 

As Dean takes a seat at the table across from his brother, he can’t help but consider how easy it would be _not_ to talk about it - to just pretend that he couldn’t sleep and not say anything to Sam about the nightmares and anxiety that have been plaguing him. Honestly, it wouldn’t be hard. Dean has been hiding his pain for his entire life, and Sam is no stranger to be on the receiving end of it. 

But…

But, he isn’t the same man that he was two or five or ten years ago. Sure, talking about emotional trauma is still a challenge. Sure, he still feels weak when he lets his guard down, even around Sam or Cas, but he knows that it feels worse to hold it all in and wait for it to inevitably boil over. It always leads to an ugly fight or a long-awaited breakdown, and those are messy and avoidable if he just _talks about it._

Maybe that’s Cas getting to him, with his gentle touches and his kind words and his understanding, patient eyes. He never pushes Dean too hard, but he also challenges him to get better, and Dean has needed someone like that for longer than he’d care to admit. Whenever he feels like it’s too much, that eventually, Cas is going to realize how broken and fucked up he is and leave, Dean reminds himself that Cas chose to love him in the face of all of his flaws - _because_ of all of his flaws - and he tries every day to face them head-on. If not for himself, then for Cas. 

So instead of opting to sit in silence, Dean decides to strike up a conversation, and if it goes where he thinks it will, then so be it. 

“You ever think we’d end up here?” he asks, breaking the silence in the quiet kitchen. 

Sam glances up at him from his laptop once more, fixing him with a look that lingers just a second too long before replying, “Sitting up in the bunker at 2am? Hate to break it to you, but we’ve been doing this for a while.”

“No. Just…” he shakes his head, “The other side, you know? I mean, you got Eileen, and Cas and I - I just never thought…”

He trails off, but he hopes that Sam understands what he’s getting at. 

“That we’d be able to be _happy?”_ Sam asks after a moment, almost immediately latching onto Dean’s train of thought. 

Dean huffs out a quiet laugh. “Yeah.”

Seemingly sensing that this conversation is taking a rather serious turn, Sam shuts his laptop before admitting, “Yeah man, I think about it all the time.” Then, after a beat, he adds, leaning forward just a little, “What brought this on?” 

Dean shakes his head at that. He didn’t really plan this out, and his throat feels tight and everything in his body is screaming at him to _abort mission,_ just play it off in a lighthearted manner, make a joke out of it, _something,_ but…

But he knows that this conversation has been a long time coming, and he knows he’ll feel a lot better after getting it all out there. Sometimes, he feels guilty bringing it up around Cas, because he doesn’t want him to think that it’s _his_ fault, because it’s not. It’s just years and years of pent up trauma that he brushed under the rug, assuming he’d never even make it far enough to need to address it. 

“After everything we’ve been through, it’s just… it’s _hard,_ you know?” he says at last, looking down at his hands as he speaks, “Settling down. Accepting that this is it - that we’re not one week away from some fucked up M. Night Shyamalan plot twist that’s going to completely turn everything upside down and -”

“And you can’t help but feel like something bad is about to happen?” Sam supplies. When Dean looks up, eyes wide with surprise, he’s met with a steady, knowing gaze. 

_“Yeah.”_ The one word syllable comes out as a sigh. 

_“Dude,”_ Sam replies, his tone saying so much more than the one word, like Dean is crazy for thinking that he wouldn’t understand. “You’re not alone in that. I’ve felt the same way ever since we defeated Chuck. Every morning I wake up next to Eileen and I think…” he trails off, shaking his head, and Dean knows _exactly_ what he means, because he feels the same way when he looks at Cas.

He should have known that Sam would understand, that he’d feel the same. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks, suddenly curious why Sam, the little brother who was always attempting to pry him out of his shell, hasn’t mentioned any of this before. Why was Dean the one to ultimately bring it up when Sam was always the one who wanted to _talk it out?_

In return, Sam just fixes him with a look and shoots back, “Why didn’t you?”

And… _good point._ It has been well over two years since the end of the world and the end of _God_ and it took nearly that entire time for Dean to open up about Cas, let alone his own fears about the future. He might be getting better, but he also still has a lot to work on. 

Before Dean has a chance to come back with an explanation or a witty retort, Sam offers him a gentle smile, and thankfully takes his silence as enough of an answer. “You had your own shit going on,” he says, “I didn’t want to add anything to your plate.”

“You didn’t want to add anything to - _Jesus_ , Sammy,” Dean mutters, “You’re my little brother. You’re not some fucking burden.”

And in response, Sam just shakes his head, snorting out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

Silence falls over the room again, and for a moment, Dean considers leaving it. This is already a hell of a lot more than he was planning on talking about this tonight. He could just put a pin in it and return to it later. 

But then Dean looks up at his brother and thinks of everything they’ve been through together, and he decides that _this is good._ They _should_ talk about it. If anyone can understand him, it’s Sam. And it has been a long time coming. 

So with a deep breath, he says, “Well, we’re talking about it now…”

It’s an invitation, and Sam immediately latches onto it, understanding exactly what it means. “We are,” he says with a small smile, then thoughtfully adds, “We’ve been through a lot, Dean. I think I would be more worried if it _wasn’t_ hard to adjust, you know?” 

It makes sense. It really does. Dean assumes that if he were talking to a therapist right now, they’d probably tell him that it’s completely normal to feel this way when working through so much residual trauma. But this is Sam, and Sam probably understands him way more than some shrink ever will, so his words carry a little more weight. 

“Yeah,” Dean mutters with a shake of his head, looking back down at the table, “You’re probably right, it’s just -”

“Ingrained in us?” Sam offers, and when Dean glances back up at him, eyebrows raised, he chuckles. “Yep. I know.”

“We’re a sorry pair,” Dean says with a soft laugh of his own. 

“Well, I’d safely assume that we’re not the only ones,” Sam suggests after a moment’s consideration, “I’m sure that Cas feels a similar way.”

“Cas?” Dean asks, surprised at Sam’s assumption. “No, he -”

Dean thinks of Cas, of strong arms wrapped around him when he gasps awake in the middle of the night, plagued by violent nightmares and haunting memories from years ago. He thinks of Cas’ gentle voice, calmly talking him down the morning after their first night together, when Dean lost his shit in the middle of what should have been perfect morning sex. _Cas,_ who has promised over and over never to leave again, to spend the rest of his now mortal life proving that he’s not going anywhere. 

Cas, who doesn’t look away when he gets caught staring at Dean when they’re getting ready in the morning, or when they’re sitting in some dingy dive bar, or when they’re driving together. Cas, who holds Dean like he’s something precious, something delicate, like he might slip away if he isn’t too careful. Cas, who kisses him like every time might be the last and who _always_ says, _“I love you”_ whenever they part ways, even if Dean is just running to the store and back and -

_Oh._

He never even stopped to consider that Cas felt the same way, that Cas might be just as afraid as he is - that deep down, Cas also might feel terrified to _be happy_ , because what if it all gets ripped away again?

 _“Shit,”_ Dean hisses, scrubbing a hand over his face, “I didn’t even - _god,_ I’m an asshole.” He looks up at Sam, his eyes wide as they peer through his fingers, “You’ve talked to Eileen about this?”

Sam, bless his soul, doesn’t give Dean shit or harass him for not _getting it._ Instead, he just offers a smile and replies, “Yeah, a little.”

At that, Dean abruptly stands from the table, chair scraping behind him. “I uh - I need to - I’m gonna go back to bed,” he announces awkwardly, “Thanks for talking, Sam.”

And Sam just nods in his direction, his smile widening just a little bit. “Anytime.” 

On his way back to bed, Dean makes a pit stop in the bathroom, taking a bit longer than normal after washing his hands to look in the mirror - and _really looks._ For the longest time, Dean _hated_ himself. He hated the man that he turned out to be, so much like his father in so many ugly ways, and falling short of him in all the ways that counted. Dean used to hate looking in the mirror, because he’d find a haunted, broken man staring back at him, because there was always something lurking in the shadows behind him, poised and ready to take any sliver of peace or happiness away from him. 

But now, when Dean meets his own gaze in the mirror, it isn’t a stranger looking back at him. He knows that he has a lot of work to do, a lot of _healing_ to do, but when Dean looks at himself right now, he doesn’t see a shadow of his father or a broken person or a monster waiting just over his shoulder for the right moment to strike. Instead he sees someone who might not have it all figured out, but who’s slowly getting there. Someone worthy of love, of happiness. And he’ll be damned if he lets that shell of a person, the man who used to look back at him in the mirror, take this from him.

With one last look in the mirror, Dean turns off the light and makes his way back to his bedroom - his _shared_ bedroom with Cas, because at this point, they’re definitely cohabitating and he doesn’t hate it one bit. When Dean opens the door and slips inside, just a small sliver of light sneaks its way in, quickly painting Cas’ sleeping form in the faint glow from the lights down the hall, where Sam is still sitting in the kitchen, before he closes the door with a quiet click. 

It isn’t until Dean climbs into bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight, that Cas stirs, turning slightly to crack an eye open and look up at him in the dark. “Everything okay?” he mumbles, half awake, voice raspy with sleep.

For a moment, Dean just takes the image of him in - messy hair, squinting eyes, furrowed brow and all - and he can’t help but wonder how he didn’t see it before. He can’t help but wonder how he was so blind, how he couldn’t tell until Cas’ teary-eyed confession that he felt the same way, how he didn’t realize until _tonight_ that Cas is just as scared of losing this as he is. 

And _god,_ Dean loves him. 

_“Yeah,”_ Dean murmurs softly, pulling Cas close as he settles down underneath the blankets. He presses a quick kiss to the other man’s temple and tries to ignore the flip flop his stomach does when Cas leans easily into the touch, his eyes falling closed once more. “Everything is perfect.” 

And as Dean drifts off to sleep, Cas held soundly in his arms, he thinks nothing of the fear and guilt that he has harbored for the majority of his life. Instead, he just feels safe, loved and _free._

**Author's Note:**

> Might fuck around and keep writing for this series, but we'll see! Feel free to send me headcanons and ideas!


End file.
